


Wrong Side of Heaven

by ZombieliciousXIII



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Depression, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Needs a Hug, super family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieliciousXIII/pseuds/ZombieliciousXIII
Summary: He’ll always fail those he loves.His failures to them, if anything, is his true legacy.“Sir, are you alright?” Jarvis questions, voice as calm as always - and for a moment, he tells himself the concern in the A.I’s voice isn’t just in his imagination.That for a moment, someone does care - even if he’d been the one to create them.Tony lets out a mirthless chuckle and forces a smile, “aren’t I always?”~~~(Or; Tony's suffering mentally and is taking it out on himself physically, and sometimes we just need to be reminded that we aren't alone - Steve is Tony's reminder)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so I know I’ve been MIA and I’m sorry, I’ve been working on some personal projects and my depression has decided to come say hi again, awesome, right? Anyway, I guess as a byproduct of it, this story came to be. I’m sorry for the sadness of it but I really do love Tony and think he needs a damn hug, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> P.S. The title of this story is a song by the same name by Five Finger Death Punch, check it out! (It also inspired the story, so I think by listening to it it adds more!)
> 
> WARNING: POSSIBLE TRIGGERS! (READ TAGS!)

_Can’t breathe…_ is Tony’s only thought, from having his head forced beneath water to falling through space, somehow he’s being suffocated and torn apart all at once, and for the life of him he just. Can’t. Fucking. _Breathe._ Tony moves like a shot, sitting up ramrod straight in his four-poster bed, skin sweltering with a sheen of sweat and kicks off the covers that cling to him; the man shivers and cringes at the taste in his mouth. Tony hates this, fuck that, he was _tired_ of it. After being kidnapped in Afghanistan he thought his nightmares couldn’t get any worse, that the torture he’d endured would be the only thing to plague his subconscious, and then - as the news stations had dubbed - _The Battle of New York_ fucking happened.

Static of what’s left of his nightmares remain in the inventor’s mind, trying to shove them away into the darkest recesses of his subconscious - he knows it’s not a healthy coping method; but it works, so who gives a shit? Running hands down his face the brunet huffs a tired sigh, the taste of bile finally subsides, and his skin no longer buzzes as though he’d vibrate out of it. This near nightly occurrence is now almost a routine for Tony Stark. Through any increment of slumber he somehow manages to fall into, he’s always awakened with nightmares that leave him in tears - though he’d never admit to it.

“Jarvis?” Tony croaks, voice wrecked from screaming in his sleep.

“Yes, Sir?” The man’s oldest and dearest invention replies, disembodied voice already calming him - and if he hears it’s concern, neither of them say anything about it.

“Time?”

“Three-forty-three in the morning, Sir,” Jarvis replies, adding after a moment - as if he’d felt the need to withhold the bit of information that would only serve to remind Tony how much of a wreck he really was. “You’ve been asleep for thirty-five minutes.”

“Great…” Tony huffs, lurching forward and buries his face in his hands.

Tony wipes his eyes with trembling digits, he’s stronger than this… _has to be stronger than this,_ and yet…with every passing night the man feels like another bit of his sanity’s being chipped away. His mind - what once was his best friend - now feels like his worst enemy, and Tony is at a loss of what to do. He’d seen every one of his teammates - the very few friends he has - die in his arms over and over again, and there’s never anything he can do to stop it. From Steve rasping “ _you...could have...saved...us”_ to Natasha silently weeping in his arms, hatred for him clear in her fading green-eyes as she chokes out “ _there’s r-red..in_ your _ledger, Tony…”_ and, as always, they die. They always die. Tony tries to stop it, tries preventing their deaths - the end of the world, the death of trillions - in his dreams and reality.

After all, that’s how Ultron happened.

And yet, he fails every time.

He’ll always fail those he loves.

His failures to them, if anything, is his true legacy.

“Sir, are you alright?” Jarvis questions, voice as calm as always - and for a moment, he tells himself the concern in the A.I’s voice isn’t just in his imagination.

That for a moment, someone does care - even if he’d been the one to create them.

Tony lets out a mirthless chuckle and forces a smile, “aren’t I always?”

Despite the creation of Vision, Tony couldn't let go of Jarvis, and to this day the fact that it’s Jarvis is voice and not Friday’s that speaks to him in the privacy of his - rebuilt - Malibu home remains a secret. He’d lost everything after Ultron, but he’d admit his selfishness at being unable to let Jarvis go - especially not when the A.l. was all he had left. The brunet turns over and throws his legs over the edge of his bed, the dead weight of his limbs hang limply until Tony moves to stand, stumbling ever so slightly before righting himself and moves to the door of his room. There were times his teammates asked why he wasn't at the tower with them, and he’d always given them one excuse after another, but since Pepper had left him, they no longer asked why he needed his privacy. The media speculated, now that Tony was single again, that he was doing nothing but partying and humping anything that moved - a part of him wished they were right. It’d be so much easier if they were.

“Jarvis, mind getting the coffee ready?” Tony mumbles, making his way to the kitchen.

“Certainly Sir,” the disembodied voice answers, and Tony hears the coffee machine getting to work as he approaches. “Sir, may I be candid?”

The brunet snorts at that, as if Jarvis were speaking as anything more than a program, but he nods regardless - maybe old habits really do die hard, but Tony wouldn't know, his habits never really do die.

“At this rate, you're going to end up killing yourself, Sir. Be it of exhaustion, malnutrition or liver failure...I worry about you, Sir.”

The inventor’s movements slow as he reaches for his coffee mug, but his movements resume a fraction of a second later, and he doesn't mean for Jarvis to hear it - or maybe he does - as he mumbles _it’d be for the best_ . Tony grabs the mug and fills the porcelain cup to the brim, shuffling out of the kitchen and towards the windows of his estate. Sipping at the ebony liquid, Tony stares out at the vast expanse of water from beyond his mansion’s windows, and for a moment he wonders if dying at the mercy of the sea would be as peaceful as the slow lapping waters look. With a silent sigh the brunet turns away and heads to the stairs leading to his workshop, there was no point in lingering on the thought, Tony knew he was far too self-centered to ever actually kill himself. However, the thought that he really did have the power to just make everything _stop,_ the fact that by his own hand - or at the hands of another - he could prevent himself from further harming those around him...it was calming.

For once in his life Tony no longer feared death, instead he’d made his peace with it, and now waited for the day his existence would no longer bring harm into those he loved and cared for. Yes, he fully admits that he loves his teammates, from Wanda to Banner, and even Steve - but since Ultron he can’t blame them for not feeling the same.

Upon entering his workshop the genius forces a ghost of a smile, “Jarvis, you up for some work?”

“For you Sir? Always,” the A.I. replies, and Tony feels his lips tug up ever so slightly - his first genuine smile in what must have been months.

“Let’s get to it then,” the brunet says, walking further into the space and takes in the sight of each newly lit area.

Tony wasn’t sure how long he’d been living back in his Malibu home, the rebuilding process had happened not long after it’s destruction, and had been finished long before the Avengers had taken care of destroying the last traces of Ultron. However, it was the night Pepper broke up with him that he’d drunkenly driven himself back here rather than to the tower, the next morning the brunet had looked around with glazed eyes and finally registered where he had brought himself; he’s been there ever since. The team would call on Tony whenever they’d assemble, which was sparsely since Ultron, and for that Tony was thankful - he didn’t think he could actually stomach putting up a front that much anymore.

“Shit!” Tony hisses, yanking his hand back from his soldering gun and almost burns his other hand in the process.

Shoving his middle finger into his mouth Tony stands, stomach twisting within him as it groans and convulses with wordless pleas of hunger, and like the functional adult Tony admits to be he heads to the kitchenette in his work shop, cracking open a bottle of Maker’s Mark - and just because he’s classy, drinks right from the bottle. He feels his suits watch him in disapproval.

Pointing at the various upgrades of his suit, Tony glares, “don’t judge me you pile of scraps.”

“Sir, if I may-”

“You may _not_ Jarv-”

“-it’s ten in the morning, and since you’ve arrived here you haven’t eaten and proper meal in, collectively, almost a full two months, Sir.”

Tony snorts, “oh c’mon, like I haven’t been worse,” he drinks two pulls of the liquid fire as if to make his point, “and and what? I’ve been here for, like, what? Five months? Six?”

“You’ve _been_ here for almost two months, Sir.” The brunet slows at that, the glass head of the bottle brushing against his lips - had he really been here for such a short time? How has it felt so long? _-_ and Tony smiles, garish, and shrugs.

“You know how I am about breaking routine, Jarvis.” He drinks.

He can almost hear the A.I. sigh.

It’s somewhere between the end of his second bottle of Maker’s Mark and the beginning of the third that he hears his phone ring, he knows he shouldn’t answer, not in his state, but his resolve dies when he sees Pepper’s face flash across the screen. Tony picks up his Stark-Phone _,_ but leaves his camera off; first mistake.

“ **Hey- Tony? Why can’t I see you? Are you okay?** ” Pepper’s rapid fire questions almost make Tony’s head spin, he should have known better than try to get one over on her - she knew him almost better than he knew himself.

“Calm yourself, Pep,” Tony relents and turns on his camera - only after he’s slipped on a smile, a smile that hasn’t felt genuine in a long time. “There, happy now?”

“ **Tony...are you drunk?** ” The brunet opens his mouth to lie - like he always does - but the pixels that make up Pepper display her glare as clear as though she were right in front of him - damn his tech. “ **Don’t you dare lie to me.** ”

“Just enjoying my time off before I gotta put the suit back on be Iron Man, Pep, it’s not a big dea-”

“ **Tony it’s ten in the morning.** ”

“I’m sure it’s five in the afternoon somewhere,” Tony says, taking another drink - no point in hiding, Pepper of all people already knows how fucking messed up he is.

“ **Tony, what’s wrong?** ” She asks tentatively, and he almost hated her for it - hates that she treats him like a child, handles him like he’s something breakable. “ **Are you alright?** ”

He laughs something twisted and painful, it sounds _wrong_ even to his hazy senses, “aren’t I always, Pep?”

This time his laughs sounds almost pitiful; he should never have picked up the damn phone.

“ **Ton-** ”

“I still love you, Pepper, y’know that? Right?” Tony interrupts, and cringes at the way his voice almost cracks. “I-I need you to know that.”

The redhead’s alarm slowly gives way to love and _sadness_ \- of course Tony would still make her sad, even after everything...even when he’s telling her that despite everything he still loves her, even if he can’t ever have her, not like that anyway. He misses her like a missing limb, always feeling the other side of his bed and prays it isn’t empty, and every morning he swears the bedsheets are laughing at his pitiful idiocy. He’d fight against _worlds_ for her, but he knows that’s the exact reason they are no longer together. Pepper would always be wearing red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin each time he came back from a battle, big or small, it never mattered because to her it could always potentially be his last. The genius knew it wasn’t her lack of faith in him, nor was it that his teammates were literal _Gods_ and monsters, super soldiers and assassins. No, her fear stemmed from something far more illogical; love. Tony remembers thinking he must have been the Frodo to her Sam, because each time her green-eyes would silently scream _Don’t go where I can’t follow!_ but she would always say something along those lines, too - so perhaps the comparison wasn't unfounded.

It was her love for him that drove them apart, how ironic is that? The one thing that is supposed to bind people tore them apart like a cotton; messy and unfixable.

“ **I love you too, Tony,** ” Pepper replies, a sad smile ghosting lips - lips he would give anything to feel one more time. “ **I always will, no matter what.** ”

The words should comfort him, should offer some reprieve from the constricting pain he’s begun to believe to be chronic around his heart as of late, but instead each syllable hits him like a punch to the gut. The sadness in Pepper’s eyes gut him, if only because he knows he’s the reason for it. He wonders if it would be melodramatic to say they were doomed from the start, because Pepper would have moved heaven and earth to protect Tony after Afghanistan, but the only time he felt true safety after being torn apart and put back together was in his suits - Tony never really knows when to just shut up, but this time he remains silent about his thoughts. However, the sad - or pathetically ironic - part of it all, was that Pepper had left Tony _because_ of his suits, and logic told him she ended things between them because she could never live with herself if she had asked him to part with them. His heart was another matter entirely, constantly taunting him with words of _you’re not good enough for her -_ maybe logic really didn’t have a place when it came to matters of the heart.

If Tony was being honest, he could probably pinpoint the moment he’d doomed their relationship; it was the moment he told the world _I am Iron Man._

“ **Tony?** ”

He wants to tell her that all she had to do was ask, just to had to _ask_ and he’d destroy every one of his suits and never turn back. However, Tony can’t pretend Pepper’s not smart enough to see right through that lie, they’d both know it the moment Tony spoke the words. It’s not that he wouldn’t, Pepper likely always knew he’d set off a damn _bomb_ in his own lab if she asked him to, but it’s _because_ she very likely also knows destroying his suits would be like destroying a part of Tony, too.

He wishes it wasn’t true, and yet they both know it is.

Taking another pull of his whiskey the brunet sighs, “I gotta go, Pep...tinkerin’ around in the lab with my repulsors, might be onto somethin’.”

Tony ends the call before she can even wish him well or a goodbye, before he can make a fool of himself and apologize for tearing at her heart like he had - as if any apology could really make up for all of the pain he’d caused her. It’s only as he throws his Stark-Phone across the room and sways forward that Tony really notices how drunk he’s gotten, the room spins around him, his body feels light and yet his movements are heavy and uncoordinated. When had he drank so much? The brunet all but stumbles onto his living room couch, ungracefully falling onto his face and almost drops his bottle of ‘liquid courage’ - can it really be called that when it just makes you want to cry and confess truths you hide daily? Maybe that’s where the saying comes from; _a drunk person’s words are a sober person’s thoughts._

Tony snorts at the conclusion, did he just make a discovery? Hey, wouldn’t be the first time.

The brunet swallows thickly, turning over and allows his head to fall back against the couch cushions. He’s on his back and a part of him knows he should turn onto his side because at any moment he could choke on his own vomit, but a larger part of Tony can’t bring himself to care. The brunet feels as if the world’s rushing to his head, and chuckles at the fact that Tony’s probably the heaviest drinker he knows, and yet still hasn’t been this drunk since his senior prom. He vaguely remembers hearing a muffled _thunk,_ can almost recall the way his stomach roiled against him, but Tony definitely doesn’t remembers closing his eyes.

“Tony, Tony wake up,” a voice urges, the brunet feels a warm pressure against the side of his face, and Tony leans into the warmth - unable to help himself. “C’mon Tony, you gotta get up.”

The brunet groans and wants nothing more than to relish in the gentle caress he feels stroking his cheekbone, but eventually does as he’s told; forcing tired eyes open, and - gracelessly - splutters at being met by oceanic blue-eyes framed by sinfully long lashes. Tony always claims to be a smart man, but his mind tells him _maybe you should rethink that statement_ the moment he surges forward, effectively all but smashing his head against Steve’s. The two reel back in pain, clutching their foreheads for dear life until the throbbing subsides - for Tony, it feels like a millennia until the jackhammering within his skull dissipates, and finally calms into his routine migraine that sits on his head like a crown he never fucking asked for.

“Who let you in?” Tony is the first to break the silence, squinting over at Steve before rubbing the remaining sleep and crust from his eyes.

“I did, Sir,” Jarvis chimes in helpfully, and for a moment Tony has the unexplainable want to dismantle his A.I. that is, until it registers that _Steve_ is still standing in his house - clearly stunned upon hearing the familiar voice.

‘ _No...nonononono! No one was supposed to know!’_ Tony’s mind screams, but before he can do any damage control Steve breathes out in surprise.

“Jarvis? Is that really you?”

“Hello Captain Rogers, it is indeed.”

The blond’s eyes go from the hidden camera on the corner ceiling and back down onto Tony, something within pools of blue the genius can’t comprehend. “But after Vision I thought…”

Tony knows exactly what he thought, what everyone thought; that Jarvis was no more, it was only Friday - or some other voice. However, Tony had never really expected his any of teammates to show up unexpectedly, and now he silently batters himself for not thinking up a protocol that would have kept _something_ a secret - for once, kept something _his._

“I’m working out some kinks with Friday’s programming,” the brunet blatantly lies, struggling to his feet, and trying not to dig himself further into the hole he’s currently in; Tony forces a lazy smile. “What are you doing here, Capsicle?”

For a moment the blond looks sheepish but sighs, hand running through his hair - like it’s a hardship to even explain, “Pepper called me.”

‘ _Makes sense,’_ Tony thinks, swallowing dryly. ‘ _Of course being asked to check up on the dysfunctional Tin Man would be annoying._ ’

“What for?” Tony’s a masochist, has to be, it’s the only logical explanation as to why he questions Steve further instead of just pushing him out with a simple; _I’m alright._

“She was worried about you Tony,” Mr. Golden Boy begins, and Tony kind of just wants to slap that damn genuine _goodness_ and _worry_ off his face. ”We all are.”

Tony snorts; bad move.

“You think I’m lying?” Steve, clearly affronted, takes a step closer to the brunet and Tony fights the urge to shove him away like a petulant child.

“Did I say anything? No, I didn’t, so calm the hell down, Winghead.”

Steve rolls his eyes at the slight and continues on undeterred, “you’ve been back here for almost three months Tony, and we haven’t heard a single word from you! No calls, texts, nothing new on any media-”

“And here I thought my ass _not_ being on the front page was a _good_ thing-”

“-and you haven’t even bothered to come visit us in _your_ tower, and brushed off any request for us to come see you after missions you would just show up to and leave right after. We thought something happened, Tony!”

“Well, gee, you pulled out all the stops on your rescue mission, Cap,” Tony sneers - he can’t help it, he just wants to be alone, is that so wrong? - and peeks behind Steve for effect. “Let me guess, Thor’s parking the car?”

The brunet watches the blond’s fists ball up, and for a moment he wonders what it’d be like to get punched by a Super Soldier - because with the way Steve’s jaw tenses, he thinks he really might be hit. However, ever the Boy Scout, Steve does nothing more than breathe deeply to calm himself and answers - isn’t he just the pinnacle of rationality?

“We thought you’d contact us if you were in any serious trouble, Tony,” the blond begins, and suddenly the genuine sadness and worry that seems to take over him is like a knee to the gut. “But, clearly, we should have been more attentive with you…”

Tony rolls his eyes, trying to shake off the guilt he feels coiling in his chest, “what is that supposed to mean?”

Steve swallows, and the brunet sees the way his fingers twitch - does Steve really think Tony needs to be held like some damn _child?_

“Look at you, Tony...you’re practically skin and bones...when was the last time you had a proper meal?”

“Last ni-” Stark begins, yet another lie, when Jarvis swiftly cuts in.

“He had half a sandwich three nights ago.”

‘ _Traitor.’_

“Are you kidding me?” Steve balks, casting a glance to the empty - whoa, wait Tony _finished it? -_ bottle of Maker’s Mark before looking back at the brunet. “And you were drinking? You could seriously hurt yourself, Tony, didn’t you think-”

“Cut the crap, Steven,” Stark huffs, shaking his head only to feel a wave of dizziness slap him across the face, and the brunet stumbles - almost shouting in frustration when Steve catches him from falling. “What I do is _my_ damn business, no one else’s,” Tony snaps, yanking away from the blond, but only makes it a few steps away when Steve’s words stop him in his tracks.

“It is our business, Tony, when _we’re_ the reason you’re doing this to yourself.”

The maddened genius freezes, hands trembling as he speaks through clenched teeth, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve goes silent, it’s unlike him and makes Tony feel the need to fill the quiet, but before he can the blond finally speaks.

“Shower, I’ll cook for you, and _then_ we’ll talk.”

Tony laughs, a sound associated with happiness is filled with nothing but anger and frustration - his fists ball up and the brunet is almost tempted to give into the urge to hit Steve, again.

“Listen Cap, I-”

“ _Shower,_ Tony _,”_ the blond snaps, leaving no room for argument, and the unknown emotion lacing his anger makes Tony’s heart constrict.

Tony goes without another word. However, through all his actions he feels a knot of anxiety building up within him, coiling tight and heavy within himself; a damn Gordian Knot he can’t find the end to no matter how hard he tries. Tony’s hands shake as they scrub the shampoo into his scalp, and he knows it’s pathetic, knows that he has to be stronger than this but he just can’t keep it together anymore; can’t live knowing he’s nothing but a burden to those around him no matter what he does. You’d think being a genius would mean you had the answers to everything, but Tony just can’t seem to figure out a way to prove that _he’s fine_ , and even if he won’t admit it the brunet knows why he can’t solve such a simple question; because the reality is, he hasn’t been okay for a long time - maybe he’s finally reached his breaking point. Tony wraps a towel around his waist, about to step out of the shower only to slip, his hands desperately search for purchase, but upon the resounding crack of his knees hitting marble he knows he’s failed.

“Tony?!” A voice shouts seconds later, and looking up from the ground Tony feels even more pathetic upon meeting Steve’s worried gaze.

He huffs a laugh; a pathetic sound, sad.

“I can’t even stand on my own.”

The blond kneels down to help Tony up, and it’s upon being pressed against Steve’s chest that he feels it; a thrashing heartbeat, muscle pounding against bone in hopes of escape. Tony sees the way Steve’s face dusts pink, the way the Super Soldier won’t meet his eyes as he holds a scantily clad Tony against him, and he just can’t help himself; he laughs.

“Don’t tell me you have the hots for me, Cap,” the brunet teases, the blond reddens further, but his jaw is set - teeth undoubtedly gritting together.

Steve remains silent as he guides Tony back into his bedroom, seating him on the bed before leaving for the kitchen once more; he never denied it. Tony changes slowly, trying to find some plausible reason for Steve’s silence, but continues to come up blank. Pulling on a black Henley, boxers, and gray sweatpants the brunet pads towards the kitchen, taking a seat at the kitchen island and stares at Steve. The silence between them is almost deafening, enough Tony would swear up and fucking down that if he reached out he’d be able to grab it. The brunet tries to speak, a few times, but each time words fail him until he forces out the one thing his mouth is able to make verbal.

“What did you mean, earlier,” Tony questions, brown-eyes still watching Steve work around the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you’re talk-”

“Don’t fuck with me, Steve!” The brunet barks, anger grounding him to speak properly. “We both know what you fucking said, now spit it out! What did you mean?!”

Steve stops, eyes screwing shut as his hands clutch onto the edge of the kitchen counter, ducking his head in between his arms as he breathes hard, and Tony is about to speak when Steve beats him to it.

“Wanda…” he trails, clearly uncertain if he should actually share whatever information he has. “Wanda told me what she saw.”

Tony’s brows furrow in confusion, “what did she tell you?”

The blond stands upright and meets Tony’s gaze head on, “before Wanda and Pietro came onto our side, back when she was using her abilities against us and...and showed us all of our greatest fears.” Tony’s mind reels; _oh God no…_ “We were worried about you, Tony, _all_ of us...and one night Wanda came into my room and told me what your biggest fear was; Pepper called me the next morning.”

Tony forces out a laugh, it’s wet and weak, and he hates it but it speaks a truth he tried so hard to conceal.

“She’s just a kid, she...she don’t know what she’s talking about,” the brunt rasps, but he knows the jig is up; he’s been caught and no lie or flashy get away is going to get him out of this.

“Tony-”

“Who else knows?”

“To-”

“ _Who else_ , Rogers?” Tony snarled, glaring at the blond and he wishes he could hate him - wishes that the image of Steve dying in his arms wasn’t still making his bones ache.

“Just me and Wanda,” he sighs, eyes honest as he adds, “no one else, I swear.”

Tony shakes his head, leaning back in his seat, “I-I couldn’t protect you... _any_ of you...you were all dead and I-I was the only one left, how selfish am I that in my greatest fear I _live?!”_ He thinks of Clint and Natasha, cold and blue. “Why couldn't I protect you?!” He thinks of Thor and Bruce, dead bodies flinching in death to scar him. “You’re all my responsibility and I couldn’t even protect you!”

Tony thinks of Steve rasping out _you...could have...saved...us…_

The brunet flinches when large hands cup his face, thumbs wiping away tears he was unaware of, and only then does he realize he’s trembling.

“I should have saved you, Steve…” Tony cries, too far gone to even think of hiding his fears any longer, and clutches onto the front of Steve’s shirt for some form of stability.

Tony sees the guilt in Steve’s blue-eyes and hates himself all the more for it, he’s supposed to be strong, supposed to be the ‘ _hero’_ everyone dubs him to be, but when it matters most he’s nothing more than a man in a suit of metal.

“You created Ultron to do just that,” Steve begins, and Tony groans as his eyes screw shut.

“And look how that worked out.” His laugh is self-deprecating, he knows - his father is probably turning in his grave as they speak.

“You were trying to protect us, Tony...you were trying to everything you could.”

“And it wasn’t enough!” Tony bellows, eyes frantic as they stare up at Steve. “I couldn’t save Yinsen, I couldn’t protect Pepper, and I can’t save the _one_ semblance I have of a family I have left in my fucking life!”

The blond sighs softly, palm pressing against Tony’s jaw to tilt his face up, and Tony meets his sea-blue gaze, “you can’t save us Tony, not alone...you always think you’re alone in this, from the palladium poisoning to...to _now,_ you keep thinking you’re in this alone when you’re _not.”_

Tony chuckles weakly, “Pepper’s gone, Steve, the one person that kept me grounded...that gave me hope that maybe all this shit was worth it, and she’s _gone_.”

“We’re not gone, Tony,” the blond defends, hand tightening ever so slightly on Tony’s jaw. “ _I’m_ not…”

“You can’t stand me, Cap...you said so yourself when we first met, don’t go pretending now.”

The blond groans softly, a whine of frustrated sadness, and his brows knit together - thumb absently stroking Tony’s cheek.

“I was wrong, Tony...I was damn _wrong,_ and I’m _sorry_. I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge you, because now you’re-” he stops, swallows, and sighs. “You’re my teammate, Tony...and I never leave a man behind.”

Tony feels his heart beat thump against his breastbone, it doesn’t quicken, but somehow just...becomes _heavier._

“Don’t lie to me Cap-”

“I love you Tony, okay?” The blond confesses, eye flashing with shock at his own words, but there’s no traces of a lie in his ever-telling eyes.

“W-What?”

Steve swallows, thick, and licks his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Tony...I know, it’s stupid when we we do is drive each other crazy, when we fight half the time, but for God’s sake I-”

Tony surges forward, lips pressing against the blond’s, and it only takes Steve a fraction of a second to kiss back with unabated want. It’s such a simple thing, something Tony’s done hundreds - if not thousands - of times in his life, and yet unlike any time before it grounds him - no one but Pepper had ever made him feel this way. The two grapple onto each other, finding purchase by clutching onto the other’s clothes, until they pull away with a gasp and press their foreheads together. Tony doesn’t open his eyes, not yet; he wants to savor this warmth and safety within him

“I don’t expect you to love me back...but please Tony, just...just give me the chance to show you you’re _not_ alone in this… _please_.”

Tony feels his heart swell yet somehow shatter all at once, Steven Grant Rogers - hell, _Captain America_ \- loves him? To make it worse, is _in_ love with him? A part of him is tempted to pinch himself to see if he'll wake up, but Tony knows that this is now his reality, if only because of one fact; not even is his wildest dreams would be ever dream _this_ up.

"I'm going to destroy you," Tony rasps, fighting off fresh tears with a crumbling resolve.

He expects Steve to tell a lighthearted joke, or go off into another speech, but instead the blond’s hand tightens around the back of his neck and holds him close, "you don't have it in you."

Tony thinks he should take Steve’s words as a slight against him, but when their lips connect once again, gentle and tender, the brunet thinks - for the first time in months - maybe, just maybe, he really isn’t alone in all this.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!


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